


an unraveling gaze

by BlackSunday91



Category: Original Work
Genre: 19th Century, Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Gay, Insults, M/M, Manipulation, Mild Kink, Mild S&M, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex, Size Kink, Smut, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24689863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackSunday91/pseuds/BlackSunday91
Summary: "You're finished lying with me?""You're already missing me?"A devilish, egotistical boy and an older man holding back his own perverted demons tangle together.All men withhold something. It shows through eventually in reactions under pressure and the lines etched on a face.The ruthless new intern Marshall finds Mr. Langley's professional, legal, and ethical boundaries and breaks them one by one, though the older man acquiesces and enables him.Who is using the other?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. a descent

The boy had taken a liking to me quickly, which, I admit, did go to my head. He had a bewitching appearance that appealed to me as nobody had before. His clothes were becoming of a child, which he was, yet he carried himself like an adult with the cynicism to prove it. A sharp face which might be mistaken for a girl’s. He was thin and pale and wore a dark smirk that betrayed a troubled past.

I worked in the administration of a well-established oil firm. Via internship, he would be joining us for the fall. He attended the nearby school, which wasn’t far away. He seemed sharp and knew how to make himself useful on the job.

He insisted I call him Marshall and he call me Mr. Langley, despite introducing myself as Benjamin Langley.

Most of the others seemed quite proud of the intelligent lad’s achievement at such a young age and hoped he would continue on such a trajectory. 

During weekly meetings, he made many improvements of speech and manners. He was prone to touching me lightly on the shoulder to get my attention. Often he would pull me aside and entertain me with some related quote or offhand satire of the man speaking: “Twenty-one ‘ums’ in three minutes, a new record for the ages.” Upon being subjected to a colleague’s lunchtime ramblings - “Did the fat one complain about his equally fat wife again?” Whenever his black eyes met mine in recognition, it was a refreshing break from the extended negotiations that pushed meetings back hours and other monotonies of work.

Although, occasionally, his ramblings on some subjects could be delivered with an acidic edge that I almost disliked. Even speaking of me, he could be awful. One stress-filled day (on which he knew i was suffering horribly), he was eager to provide commentary: "You have beautiful pale blue eyes, Mr. Langley," he casually mused, "It's such a shame you find yourself outpaced by younger talent - I heard about your performance review". He was so charming that I was tempted to believe the former was true.

Some teasing sense of secret camaraderie was created between the two of us. Our previous material was added to joking conversations and became a more intimate exchange that no other party could understand. Our heated whispering was sometimes noticed, but the attention seemed irrelevant to me.

One such day nearing the end of the semester, I received an invitation from a colleague for a house party. It was to begin later in the evening. Even still, I became rather late, consumed by work for longer than expected. I was concerned - which may have been unnecessary - about the inclusion of our guest, seeing as he was young and less educated in adult matters.

When I arrived halfway through, a guest lengthily addressed the party in gratitude, as he tended to do. I mingled with the kind patrons and acquaintances, but missed the company of my dear friend and his cute quips. Just as I was looking, he appeared behind me and said close to my ear, “Thirteen.” I smiled to hear him reference our little game of counting the ‘um’s.

“I was bored without your company,” he said in a low voice. He leaned his head on my arm just below the shoulder, which seemed a perfect height to rest. He made a lengthy note of how tired he was from lack of sleep, and nearly ill. I felt him grab and pinch my upper arm for a second, and quickly assumed it was an uncoordinated mistake. We sat down next to each other, and I took a sip of my drink.

“Let me taste?”

“You seem quite sedate already.” 

He sat staring at a wall.

“Preoccupied, too.” 

“Am I?” He turned his head to me and smiled devilishly.

At these times I couldn’t quite place his thoughts when quiet. It intrigued me to know what he thought of, though I was now embarrassed to ask.

Marshall, I realized, sat in a chair of the same size as mine, but he took up half the space and was practically draped over it with glossy black hair covering his face. He leaned over in my direction, and I tried not to smell his comforting scent.  
After some refreshments and long conversation - mostly between me and him - the clock struck one, and the visitors began to thank the hosts and leave. He rather pathetically asked me to carry him home to school once the car had arrived. I apologized that I was unable to, which was met with sad sighs. 

“What’s your place like?”

“Empty. Why?”

“I should like to observe this completely empty home.” He was hanging over the chair, limbs splayed out, gesturing fancily with a hand. “I really have taken ill.”

There was a matter of dependence which I now realize was feigned. From my perspective, how was I to reject a needy young man? I didn’t entirely understand what was so special about me, but it surely made him happy. His room at school was only a short walk from my home, so I agreed. 

The wicked boy came in critiquing my choice of interior decoration. “The chairs are tacky and rotting, but these randomly selected paintings are the real culprit. I must help you.” He glanced closer at the nature scenery of the piece. “It’s actually vomit-colored, Mr. Langley - I am very concerned for your eyesight,” he said in complete seriousness. 

I glared at his mischievous face, hoping he would see there was no true resentment wherein. He finally smiled.

“I am a poor bachelor and have no choice in the matter of furnishings.”

“Yes, but a bachelor has better choices than furnishings.”

“Of what?”

“Of relations.”

I contested that no such relations had occurred with me, which was a lie and he could sense it.

I poured some tea for us at the table.

“Seems your drowsiness has left,” I said.

He removed his shoes and sat down hard on the chair.

“I am simply drunk.”

I frowned. 

“That’s inappropriate for someone your age.”

“Are you my father?” he took a long sip while looking at me.

“There are consequences for your actions, you know.”

“False.”

I continued to attempt to lecture him on how young men ought to behave, but he wouldn’t have it. The argument culminated in him slapping me on the wrists and arms across the table to prove dominance. I gave up.

There was a long, comfortable pause while we sat and drank.

When we were nearly finished with the tea, he got up and strode into my bedroom. I felt naked, and worried I might have left some obvious mess or dirty laundry on the floor. I followed him into my room, feeling an unhealthy sense of trespass that a friend twenty-seven years younger than me was so involved in my affairs. He looked over my belongings on the nightstand, then came over to the dresser with hands behind his back like an auditor. “Mm-hm.” He picked up a small statue of an angel.

“Who gave this to you?” he asked. He looked up at me. “Lover?”

“My parents.”

“Does it watch over you when you sleep?”

I was surprised to see question in his eyes.

“I suppose.” 

He looked it over thoughtfully; gazed down at the floor. Then he approached me even closer and tenderly hugged me from the side. Without thinking, I buried my face in his smooth hair and held him close as if he were my own son. He breathed in my shirt, where I had applied now-faded cologne. The troubled demon in me enjoyed his sweet dependence.

“Do you need to go home?”

He looked up. “You would have me walk home alone in the cold?”

I thought.

“No.”

I gave him the sofa, which he refused. So. all the while feeling it inappropriate, I got ready for bed while he watched. He then valiantly attempted to clean his teeth without his own toothbrush, entering his closed mouth with a finger and moving back and forth, reaching toward the back of the throat. As I stood outside the bathroom, I could have sworn that in the corner of my eye he suckled the finger, looking at me.

I climbed into bed, then removed my outer garments. He began to strip as well, and I immediately looked away so he could finish undressing. He wasted no time crawling into the large bed, usually half-empty, beside me.

Despite his mischievous exterior, he seemed very sweet with me and settled in right next to me to sleep. I realized again how small his frame was as he snuggled under me and began to breathe deeply. I almost protested he find a less intimate position, but figured he needed the rest.

Night passed. The next morning, I awoke to the sun shining in through the window and his sweet dreaming face next to mine. I carefully got out of bed to avoid waking him, then absent-mindedly washed my face twice and went into the kitchen. I was occupied by thoughts of the stress of work later. I retrieved the morning paper and tried to ease my mind; I also needed to ease myself out of the peculiar ethical situation I was in.

He strode out from the bedroom yawning. He hadn’t bothered to dress at all.

I hadn’t seen what he was wearing the night before, being modest, but now it was revealed. He wore only a loose longshirt that barely covered him down there, and black socks. I could see the bare, smooth skin of his thighs. I was at once filled with an unnatural desire.

“Put on your clothes.” I looked away.

“I’m comfortable.”

“Do as I tell you.” He frowned.

I made breakfast while he partially and dejectedly did what I told him. It was my usual routine to enjoy breakfast and a pipe while reading the paper, so I retrieved the tobacco from the pantry and sat down at the table to fill the pipe. 

“Jacket, too”, I said.

He finally fully dressed and sat next to me in a dark mood. I was in a mood, too, because of what had crossed my mind.

We ate quickly. He had no shame in eyeing me hungrily this morning, a peculiar expression that seemed uncharacteristic. As I tamped down the tobacco into the pipe, I snatched a suspicious knowing glance at him. He smiled back like a jackal. By now I had come to see what the agenda was, and refused to play. 

What had popped into my head unannounced was the way Marshall would probably writhe and moan loudly, completely unashamed, if he was to be penetrated and fucked hard over some surface in the house. I could imagine being buried in him all tight and hot and throbbing. I nobly tried to block the heroin-needle thought for my own soul and his.

I made arrangements to sit on the sofa with the news. Marshall had already eaten and sat next to me, leaning on my side. I lit a match and started the pipe, which he was transfixed by almost more than me. I spread the paper out to read and found myself relaxed for a few minutes with my companion beside me, following my reading. Alas, he was a stubborn boy.


	2. a burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You look so pretty when you cry."  
> A senior work colleague spends the night with a young friend. This is the part when something happens.

Soon I felt a hand on my leg which had been creeping onto it gently and insidiously for some time. I became erect, regrettably. I moved the hand away. “Why do you reject me?” He asked sinisterly. Again, I would not play the game. I looked forward at the newspaper, failing to read the words in front of me even as I went over them again and again. 

I could see a cruel expression overtake his countenance in the corner of my eye.

“Are you afraid?” 

He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek; breathed on me. Thinking he would be placated with this, I continued to ignore him so I could pretend to read. I took a long drag of the pipe and put it down for a moment.

This was when he found the time to strike. He lunged at me, begging “Father,” in such a lascivious tone I have never heard anyone speak in since, and, grabbing my face, kissed me on the lips, hard. I pulled the boy off my face easily. His face was in a leer which betrayed his sadistic desire to possess me.

Something gave way inside me. I now gripped his chin to kiss his soft, pink mouth that was so much smaller than mine. He kissed me back and began to suck on my lips. It was such a wicked act, I resolved to find out later whom he had learned it from. 

I dropped the paper. He scrambled up into my lap and straddled me. It didn’t take long for him to lick me on the outside of the mouth, and then the inside. There was no shame to be found between us. I held the back of his head gently while he tasted me. My free hand went down to his leg and slid up to his ass hidden underneath his shorts, which didn’t conceal much to begin with. I pulled him close and imagined his amazing little body straddling me and riding on my cock just like this (and it would happen, at a different time).

As if he had read my mind, he slid forward and started humping me, trying to find an angle that would satisfy us both. He liked to lick me playfully while I tried to kiss, just to annoy. Pulling his head closer so he couldn’t get away, I ate his soft mouth. He moaned.

We stayed like this for a while, him wriggling on my lap and kissing me. I wanted nothing more than to ravish his slutty mouth all day, and luckily he had similar ideas. I felt a delicate hand quickly slip past my belt to the fabric underneath which he began to stroke back and forth. I undid the belt for his convenience.

Now he stood up and removed his jacket and shorts, revealing himself just like before. He knelt down in front of me and put his mouth on my boxers. Some wetness was already down there waiting for him. He caressed my erect cock and sucked it through the fabric. 

He sweetly rubbed and licked it over my boxers until it could be seen straining through translucent white cloth. He opened the fly. My cock sprang out, almost hitting him in the face. He then began to suck me in earnest from the tip to halfway. He used suction and went down while gripping the base of it and moaning. I was almost in shock at how filthy he was at such a young age.

The sensation was so pure and unadulterated that I hissed out loud and swore. “So sweet.” I began to hold down his head. He looked up at me in the middle of the act, a bit shocked. Soon his brow furrowed in concentration trying to take care of me.

I was voicing low groans of pleasure I could not damper despite the measured temper I had thought was mine.

My head tilted back and rested on the sofa behind me. “You’re doing so well, baby, you’re so good like this,” I said. My darling’s sweet black eyes met mine again. I stroked his cherubic face and ruffled his soft hair while he was sucking me. The boy pleasured me so well that I almost wished to smoke and drink to experience all three at once and reach heaven. I was very proud. All settled in, I picked up the pipe again to take a drag.

He bobbed up and down slowly but deeply for a few minutes. I rested my hand on his head to push him down further - “Go down further, honey, please.”

His propensity to gag was less than most, I gathered. He was able to slide so far down the shaft that his mouth stretched and his nose brushed my unshaven hair at the base. Such a greedy, warm mouth and throat gave him a whore’s enthusiasm that betrayed his soft features. I put a hand on his chin to make him look up at me. “Good boy, Marshall,” I said, while sighing in pleasure.

He pulled off me to work on my balls while stroking me with a hand. He sucked the whole package in his mouth eagerly while keeping eye contact. When he put his mouth back up to my dick, I took the opportunity to slide myself in and take control, shoving harder into his throat which could undoubtedly handle it. He made a whine as I filled his entire mouth. I stroked his face again to let him know I would be gentle. I started to fuck my boy’s face, this time gripping his hair as an anchor for me to thrust. I moaned in reaction to how good his little whore throat felt. He was barely capable of letting my cock hit the back of his throat and bottom out, though it was a struggle.

“You’re a perfect mouth for fucking, baby,” I said lowly. He looked at me, eyes fluttering, and I heard a loud moan from him. He seemed to easily glide over about three-fourths of my entire cock, leaving it slick and red in color. I shuddered just seeing him like this, making little wet sounds and reaching down to his own dick under the white, loose shirt.

I pulled out to slow my orgasm. When I did, there was a little trail of saliva left over. He looked straight into my eyes while I pressed my cock on his cheek and rubbed it on his face. The little saint reminded me of the women I’ve been with, only none were this worshipful of me. He sucked the head back into his mouth soon. I felt teeth on the sensitive head, which I sensed was deliberate. Then he went all the way down again, just so I could feel his throat and tongue. He made a good sight for me with his mouth stretched out and eyes closed. He continued to fuck his whole throat on me, and handled my balls, too. All this while making perverse moans and touching himself.

Unfortunately, I was forced to stop him. I held his head back a little, but his face still managed to excite me nearly to the point of climax - a little strand of precum, attached to me, remained on his beautiful mouth which he flicked off with his tongue. He had a langorous gaze of annoyance that I had stopped the fun.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, honey.” 

I tucked my dick back into my pants and helped him up off his knees. I put my arm around his shoulder and went to the bedroom with him. 

When I had closed the door behind us, I grabbed him firmly by the collar and pulled him over to the bed. He looked at me in fear. I returned a look straight in the eye. “You’re playing.” His lips accidentally curled into a devious grin. I grabbed his hips and pushed them into mine, soliciting a moan. Now he could feel my erection next to his, though I was much larger in every sense. This put my face right over his beautiful hair; I smelled the innocence that I was bound to ruin. I wondered what excuse I would offer to God for what I had done.

“You really seduced me, didn’t you? Planned this all out?” 

He looked hurt.

“I just need you, Mr. Langley...”

My hands were nearly large enough to wrap around his whole arm’s width. They slid down from his shoulders to his back, then made their way without my control down to his ass to grab it.

“I thought I was Father.” 

He looked at me mournfully as before. Now it was a pattern.

“Do you like to pretend you’re scared of me?” I asked. He looked on the verge of tears, yet nodded. His role-playing triggered my fear of forcing him, a taboo that, with its depravity and specificity, aroused me more than I had ever been. 

I pulled him as close as possible by the hips. I breathed with the heaviness of full arousal. My cock swelled until I’m sure he could have felt it pressing on his belly. I couldn’t help but buck a little against him just to feel any satisfying friction like when my sweet boy sucked me. He rested his head on my shoulder while I kissed him and kneaded his little ass, groped his dick, touched every part of his body. He licked his lips and touched my chest.

I picked him up and laid him on the bed behind him, then climbed on top of him. I placed my arms on both sides of him and kissed him below me.

He felt warm underneath me. He made a light, sweet noise into my mouth. Then I turned my attention to his neck, where I kissed and licked and sucked him in a filthy manner I thought he would like while I rested my hand on his head. He produced the most pitiful, desperate moans for me to enjoy. He pulled down my boxers, just so I could thrust my wet cock against his thigh.

I kissed him on the mouth as deeply as possible without causing discomfort, as if he were a precious resource that might disappear. We locked tongues together, though he was more content to lick my mouth freely. He wanted to take control and did so by clutching my shirt near my neck and pulling me closer. 

I felt a residual guilt at what I had chosen to do with him, and considered stopping now that it had gone on for a while. After a few minutes of this, with him stroking me and letting me kiss him with tongue, he viciously bit my lip hard enough to almost draw blood. I yelped and held his face back from mine. “Bitch!” 

He looked at me with a cruel expression and said, “You have to fuck me, Ben.” 

I guessed that being coldly addressed by my first name was an indication of his annoyance. I was aroused enough that the regret had passed and I wanted to teach him a lesson now.

I removed my tie, then unbuttoned the shirt and threw it on the ground. He sat up a little and watched me take off my pants and boxers. I crawled back over to him and got underneath the covers.

His legs moved to rest on my back. I felt horribly resentful because he had decided he could cause me pain just to prove a point. I wanted the same.

I pressed my cock along his smooth ass, then inside of him. He breathed in sharply. It was a difficult fit with our mismatched sizes, his little asshole and my man-sized cock.

“You’re tight, honey. Relax.”

I looked at him as I started to fuck him. I didn’t let him adjust for long enough. If he wanted to play, then we were going to play.

He bit his lip and looked at me with a devastated expression while whimpering and telling me to slow down. This only excited me more. At that moment, nothing was going to stop me from fucking my little boy to fulfill his deepest desires.

“Slow down, daddy,” he said, louder. 

“Oh, is that what you want to call me now, bitch?” 

He sneered at me.

I reluctantly slowed down and stayed inside him unmoving for a while, enjoying our sin. I thrust in faster, watching for his reaction. Such a small hole, yet he took it so well. “My sweet baby boy,” I whispered. “I’m gonna cum deep inside you, and you’ll like that, won’t you?” He nodded. “And you won’t bite me, or else you’ll get it now.”

I made long strokes inside of him, savoring his beautiful expression. I hugged him tight to fuck him with his legs in the air behind me. I kissed him softly while I fucked him harder. He seemed to enjoy it from the way he looked at me with his mouth slightly open and eyes glazed. We went on for a few minutes like this.

However, inside me a desire was building to see my own fantasies realized. I wanted him bent over me, with his hot body almost unable to keep up, squirming and whimpering. Like a john, I asked him to get on his hands and knees, and he agreed and got up and arched his back for me.

Instead of simply thrusting into him, I preferred to hold both sides of his hips and pull him back onto my cock - which was easy - in a combination of the two. I fucked him like that on the bed, enjoying it faster and harder. He seemed to like it more, because he called me father and made little sounds for me. Eventually he lowered his head down onto the pillow and raised his ass up in the air like a whore. My hands entirely gripped his soft ass, and left red marks behind. I had complete physical dominance; I could wrap both hands around his waist and they would almost meet. He drowsily moaned in the pillow when I thrust hard enough, and when he moaned it sounded like crying, which caused me to drive my cock deeper inside. “Fuck, baby,” I rasped. I was at a loss for words. He was all sprawled out in front of me on the bed with a concentrated expression.

I grabbed the shirt and moved it forward more to reveal his hourglass form. If I imagined what we looked like as an illicit scene, and the shirt as a nightgown, he might as well have been a young girl. I tugged the shirt and used it to slam him back on me with the fantasy spurring me on. He looked behind himself at me and licked his teeth.

“D-Daddy,” he repeated, “Father”; it was all he could repeat. 

Now I was firmly throwing him on me until I was up to the hilt inside without conscious thought. “Ow, it hurts,” he said, stiffening up. I immediately stopped and turned him over to kiss him. “I’m sorry, baby,” I said. He didn’t say anything back but instead changed position so that his legs were resting on my shoulders above him. “You feel okay?” He looked at me like an angel and nodded. I then pressed my cock into him again and went slowly this time. 

He reached down to get himself off, still looking at me sweetly. I was feeling the heat of orgasm along with him pumping his little cock all desperately. I plunged into him at the same time. He clawed my side hard with his nails.

“Ohh, I’m gonna cum, Daddy...” he wavered and trailed off into begging, high-pitched whimpers and agonized lilting moans. He looked at me all sultry and overcome. There were tears in his eyes. “Aah...”

I plunged in one last time and emptied my balls deep inside my baby’s hole, not withdrawing until it was finished, and watched from above as it spilled out. 

He looked at me with large questioning eyes, like I had done something confusing and awful to him. He was breathing heavily and crying. I felt an icy cold revelation that I had done something horrible, and was about to ask what was wrong, but then he reached down and wiped my cum off, sucking it clean from the whole length of his finger. I realized he had drawn blood from my side when he scratched me. 

I laid down beside him, then pulled him close and kissed his mouth, where it could still be tasted. “Are you alright?” I asked. “No,” he said - and my heart stopped - “I feel amazing.”

“Don’t play games with me,” I said, drying his tears. He snuggled up to me, still emotional.

“You like games,” he said back. He licked the inside of my mouth.

“You look so pretty when you cry.”

There was a lot of kissing, cuddling, and me asking if he was really alright. We settled in a comfortable position together and napped. I felt much closer to him than before, like we had experienced something important together. I wanted to protect him, knowing he needed a good example to look up to (which I had likely now failed at). I looked at him laying down with his eyes closed and breathing deeply. I brushed his hair back.

Just a few minutes later, he’d had his fill of affection. He rose up and coolly dressed for work for the last time as he looked at me, still groggy on the bed, and said, “Look at you, making me late for work,” he looked at the clock. “Are we leaving sometime today?”

I was out of sorts, and frankly intimidated. I did my best to orient myself and prepare for the day, but I knew it wouldn’t help. 

“You’re finished lying with me?”

“You’re already missing me?” he scraped his canine tooth with his nail.

I took us back to the office. I attempted to return to my normal schedule afterwards to no avail. 

I was living in anticipation for the next time we’d be alone together.

Through everyday functions, long meetings, errands, and quiet evenings, my thoughts would be consumed by the events of that night and how they might continue in the future. 

I knew he liked to play as if his daddy was fucking him in secret, and many other things at that. I knew he liked to manipulate me for sport. I knew I liked to violate him, too, and it made me hopelessly aroused. And every once in a while, my desperate glances at him would be met with cold black eyes and a knowing smirk.


End file.
